Vanished
by LairaDumbledore
Summary: Air catches in his throat, his eyes widen, and blood trickles from the corner of his lip. I release him and he slides to the floor. I crouch in front of him- watch the light leave his eyes. And then I turn. Vanished.


I've no interest in telling you where I've been for the past nine months. Needless to say, it's been grueling and I'm sorry about my absense. I'm back now and though I doubt I'll be doing chapter stories, I will be posting solos like no other.

She is not an OC. Her name is Lucinda Talkalot but for whatever reason, her name is not on the list. She was captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team at the same time James was. I'll probably be writing a lot about her. Sorry if it doesn't peak your interest but...well, I'm going to do it anyway.

Enjoy this.

* * *

There are words like _Freedom_  
Sweet and wonderful to say.  
On my heart-strings freedom sings  
All day everyday.

There are words like _Liberty_  
That almost make me cry.  
If you had known what I knew  
You would know why.  
_Langston Hughes_

I give him a kiss and turn my back on the man I love.

Deep down I feel this will be the last time I ever see him. I can only hope it is not. I want to remember him the way he is. Smiling, happy, kissing the back of my hand in a temporary farewell.

If only it were temporary.

Suddenly a thought occurs to me. I turn and give a smile, tilting my head like I normally do, "I love you." He smirks, "And I love you." Now I turn, walk away slowly. I want to hang onto him but I know that would be childish.

The man across the bar catches my eye. My brow furrows as I walk outside, try to remain impassive as I progress down the street towards my home. It s only a block away. I can feel him behind me, his eyes burning into my neck.

As I unlock my front door, I take a breath. Live free, die trying. I enter my apartment and leave the door cracked. As I drop my keys on the counter, I hear the creak. Followed by the slow footsteps, he's creeping.

Now or never.

I grab a steak knife from the block on the counter and whirl around. I press him against the wall, my knife to his neck. He smells of whiskey and tobacco. It assaults my nose immediately. I know he is much stronger than me so I press the skinny side of the blade into his flesh. If he moves, he dies. His smirking laugh turns into a snarl and a struggle for breath.

_"Vous faites une erreur de venir ici."_

He doesn t speak French. There is no way for him to know what I said exactly. But he can guess.  
"They ll kill you," he says, his voice strained as blood trickles down my knife from the slight movement of his throat. "They ll kill you before you can even explain yourself." Death Eater's. This man, I had been arranged to marry him since I can remember. He is vile and cruel and always has been. Many years older than me on top of that. The arrangement had been abolished in my Seventh year. When I gave in to the temptations of love and that little crack had swallowed me whole. My mother agreed to hold off on the engagement because, let's face it, a Malfoy in the family would be precious. And then I fell in love.

The news had not pleased this man before me now. He'd given me the summer. But now here he was. Coming after me and what he had planned on doing, I don't even want to think about.

_But I'm not going anywhere._

"They'll have to find me first."

I grin and fear plagues his eyes. I grit my teeth, pull the knife away. It leaves a thin line over his adam's apple, stretching the front width of his neck. Relief washes over his features and without time to hesitate

I shove the knife into his abdomen.

Air catches in his throat, his eyes widen, and blood trickles from the corner of his lip. I release him and he slides to the floor. I crouch in front of him- watch the light leave his eyes.  
Now I scurry. Grab a bag from the closet and throw a few of my most prized possessions in it.  
A necklace, a ring, book of spells as old as time, a locket, my broom, the picture frame off my dress _and then I turn._

**_Vanished._**

I would never return to that apartment again. And I would not be seen in London for fifteen solid years. I would return in 1992. As the brewing s of a second war were about to begin.


End file.
